


Peace On Earth and Good Will To All Holmes

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Sherlock December Ficlets 2017 [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Sherlock December Ficlets 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: On a cold day, some cozy peace and quiet.





	Peace On Earth and Good Will To All Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the [Sherlock December Ficlets ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fcollections%2FSherlock_December_Ficlets_2017&t=NjRmODc4ZjE3OGJjNjUzYzg2NWVhY2QzMTRjNDJmOTUwMzdkOTRhMCxabzFVQjBkMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AfMPAp7-tN-90HMCNGHRDOw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmissdaviswrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F167644180668%2Fsherlock-december-ficlets&m=0) challenge. Each will be its own story, though knowing me a couple may follow an arc of sorts.  
> The prompt used for this entry: Cold/Cozy

Sherlock was at the kitchen table peering in his microscope when he heard the front door open and Mycroft ascend the stairs. He barely bothered to flick his eyes up as his brother shook, then hung his coat and scarf in the hall, walked into the salon and sat on the sofa.

Sherlock said nothing.

  * Twenty minutes late - traffic from Whitehall. 
  * Heavy coat and scarf, but no hat.
  * Must be around -1 degrees outside. 
  * Snow started again, but not a lot of accumulation. Sedan dropped him right in front.
  * He did not sleep, late night phone calls again.
  * He's staying, so Anthea is at the Club. She doesn't stay in Whitehall if he's not there unless asked aka ordered.
  * And the clock starts now...



Mycroft said nothing.

  * Mrs. Hudson has dusted the books, but not the desks.
  * God Lord, a new bullet hole. He's shot the wall again.
  * Sherlock is using gloves; there's something particularly rotted or nasty on the kitchen table.
  * Hair is too neat, he has not been out at all today, but he's dressed, so there are plans to do so later.
  * Slept well last night, not looking cranky as when sleep deprived.
  * And the clock starts now...



The minor government official laid his umbrella to the side, opened the London Times he had brought with him and began to read.

The detective strolled to his music stand, picked up his violin and bow and plucked a few piccato notes, then swung the instrument into position and began to play. It was a new composition. A tranquil one the elder Holmes likes for Sherlock noted the how stiffness in his brother’s perfect posture relaxed a few degrees.

At some point Mycroft rose, walked into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He took out mugs and strainers from the cabinet. Because this was his brother's kitchen after all, he washed them very carefully before finding the tea tin and added the loose tea leaves to the strainers, and then the strainers to the mugs. His back was to the salon as he watched lazy flakes of snow fall outside the kitchen window while he waited for the water to heat.  When the kettle was ready he poured the hot water into the mugs, covered them with what he hoped was a clean tea towel and let them steep for a while as he continued to listen to his brother play and watch the snow.

When all was ready he prepared the drinks according to their individual tastes, transferred them to a try and brought them into the living room. He placed the mugs down before he took to the sofa again. Sherlock stopped playing after a moment and reached for his mug. Each man read or played and sipped their respective teas in comfortable silence.

About seventy-five minutes after he walked in the door Mycroft collected the empty mugs and took them to the kitchen. He washed and dried everything, then returned them to the cabinet. Sherlock placed his violin back in its case and laid the bow on the music stand in reminder that he will need to restring it later. He returned to the microscope and his experiment as Mycroft donned his coat and scarf, then retrieved his umbrella from the salon. Sherlock barely bothered to flick his eyes up as the minor government official departed.

Both brothers groaned loudly when the door downstairs closed behind Mycroft.

  * And the clock stops.



Last night John and Lestrade had played Scrabble against the Holmes brothers and by the sweet miracle of Christmas John had actually won. In honor of the momentous occasion – vowed by both brothers never to be repeated-  they offered him the granting of a holiday wish. Considering how verbally combative the two were in general, and they were especially boisterous in their snark as they played last night, John barely blinked before he gave his wish. Sherlock and Mycroft had to spend forty-eight complete hours in increments of John’s choosing - awake in each other’s company. Each had to be nice to him and to each other, they could not speak or even do that silent way they had of communication at times. Always with John as a witness and the official the keeper of time since it was his wish or it did not count, of course. If either broke any part of the deal the clock began anew until John had his complete forty-eight hours of peace. Greg practically fell out of his chair in laughter at the Brothers Holmes expressions at John’s audacity, setting the first round of silence for today.

John had sat in Sherlock’s chair by the fireplace as he read a medical journal, having thoroughly enjoyed the past ninety minutes of peace.

“Now wasn’t that cozy?” John broke out into a most beatific grin. He put down his journal and walked into the kitchen to stand beside the curly haired genius, “Ninety minutes down, only forty-six and a half hours to go.”

“Oh, how I hate you.”  Sherlock sat back from the microscope and scowled at John.

“I know, baby, I know.” John popped open a button of his husband’s shirt as he kissed the petulant lips.

“You want me to show you just how much I do, don’t you?” Sherlock grabbed the hem of John’s jumper, pulled it off one a fluid motion and dropped it on the table before he returned the kiss.

“Oh, God yes!”


End file.
